it gets poppin

**draft**

"It gets poppin in here once the weather gets cold, don't it, Mr. D?"

"Man. It gets crackin, is what. I wish it got poppin; it gets crackin."

We're laughing now. I know what he means: popping is too tame a word to use for the tension outside the custodial closet that I hide my bike in. The center lobby/game room is packed with the 13+ crowd. It's like a bar with no booze inspired by a highschool cafeteria without food: There's more space between the people here, but less to insulate one from another. I remember the boxing coach's words as I hoist my bike down the front stairs. "You be careful now, y'hear? They're crazy, they're stupid, and they can't drive!"

After months of regular attendance, this is the first time I've noticed the outside coming into this space. For the first time I feel the weight of peoples' eyes on me - in a moment I'm transmuted from "that boxer" or "Mr. Alex" into "that white guy." Feels like lots of these new faces brought the cold in with them.

But this still isn't about me. It's about new angles in big bare rooms, and seein how much torque we can put on these big bare walls.